I’ve always loved sports, chickadees.
When I was little, I loved staying up late to watch Uconn basketball games, or World Series baseball games (which I actually documented play-by-plays of in my journal).
Or getting the opportunity to actually stay up for the entirety of the Superbowl.
The first time I remember doing this is also the same Superbowl halftime show in which Michael Jackson starred, so I’m dating myself.
I’d whoop with victory for the winning team (I didn’t usually have a favorite squad in the game, but I have always.loved.an.underdog), but then the camera would pan to the losers, steeping in defeat.
It made me so upset I had to look away.
Nik, it’s okay, my dad said.
Those people make lots of money to play football, it’s okay that they lost.
Somehow, that never quite reassured me, but I see his point now.
Although eighteen years later, it still smarts to watch the agony of defeat, if you ask me.
But man, it feels good to win.
So I won’t be doing any trash talking in print (though I make no promises for during the game), but I’ll be double crossing my fingers, praying to the Bears’ defensive line, and trusting in things I maybe shouldn’t trust in (except you, Robbie, I always trust you).
And we’ll see how things shake out in Bear country.
Or Bear city I guess. That sounds more appropriate.
And even though my anxiety is running high this cold morning, you know what?
It’s good to be an underdog.